


your hair was long when we first met

by strangehunger



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Best Friend Squad Road Trip, Dancing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hair as an elaborate metaphor for responsibility, Hair as an elaborate metaphor for trauma recovery, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Kissing, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Personal Growth, Post-Canon, Really just an excuse for me to give Catra a lot of different hairstyles, Unintentional Five Times + One, Vulnerability, obviously, season five spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24277576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangehunger/pseuds/strangehunger
Summary: Unthinking Adora leans forward to tuck a loose tendril  of hair behind Catra’s ear. Catra stills. Her ears and tail go rigid with anxiety, and it’s only then that Adora realizes how much Catra’s hair has grown in the last few months. At this length, pushed back behind her ears, it reminds Adora of…She remembers the shock of seeing Catra’s hair, shorn and slicked back, on Horde Prime’s ship. She had never seen Catra’s hair that short in her life — and if she had, it would have been when they were too young for her to remember.Without it, she had seemed so small.“I’m sorry,” Adora says, snatching her hand back. “I didn’t mean to, I—”“It’s fine,” says Catra. She runs a hand through her hair, effectively dislodging the piece that Adora has just brushed down. She catches Adora’s hand in hers and says, “If it’s you, it’s fine.”_________A study of character and relationship growth through hair, or: Five times Adora helped Catra with her hair, and one time Catra helped Adora with hers.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 1685





	your hair was long when we first met

**Author's Note:**

> Alas, I can not draw! But I wanted to see Catra with different hairstyles and cuts as it grows out again, so this is a big excuse to do that — and to drop in a bunch of feelings about Save the Cat and the other events of season five. 
> 
> I really loved her short hair! So cute, so gay! But seeing her grow it out again in Adora’s wish made me think about how as much as I love it, it wasn’t really her _choice_ to cut it. I wanted to explore what that would mean, since it’s kind of symbolic of Horde Prime’s control over her and the trauma that ensues from that. So here this is. 
> 
> I also wanted to write more kissing than I did in my last Catradora fic, so. Enjoy that.
> 
> This was not intended as a five times plus one fic, but I realized while writing it that the format would tie it together, so I tweaked it. I really hope you enjoy it! This was probably the fastest fic of this length I have written in my life. 
> 
> Thank you to Col, for beta-ing this! You are a life savor! One of their suggestions really changed the entire fic for the better. 
> 
> Title from Samson by Regina Spektor.
> 
> I’m on tumblr as [strangehunger](https://strangehunger.tumblr.com) and Twitter as [magpiebrain](https://twitter.com/magpiebrain) if you want to scream with me. EDIT: Because I am being sucked in, you can now find me at an almost exclusively SPOP twitter, [tsunderecatra](https://twitter.com/tsunderecatra).

“I thought we were just going to… go,” Catra grumbles. “What’s with all of this _studying?_ ”

Adora looks up from where she sits in the castle’s former war room, a book half the size of her body splayed open on the table before her. Catra is curled up on a chair beside her, chin in hand. She stares down at a holographic slate etched with the sharp writing of the First Ones as if glaring at it harder will reveal its ancient secrets. 

Adora peeks over her shoulder, skimming the blinking letters of the First Ones for the eternal glory those words might reveal. They have been at this for a few days, now — the two of them, Glimmer, and Bow, wading through a veritable fortress of books and tablets and slates sourced from the libraries of both the castle and Bow’s dads. If Adora had it her way, they would have boarded a starship and taken off across the universe the day after they defeated Horde Prime, but that dream had been tempered by reality. Glimmer ist still queen, after all. When she isn't spending her days dredging up accounts of the First Ones and helping the others trace a path through the stars, she is settling all the affairs of Bright Moon for a smooth transition of power back to King Micah. The process is slow going. 

It’s especially slow considering Adora is the only one who can read the language of the First Ones, try as she might to confer some of that knowledge to her friends. 

“That’s a supply log. They were down to fifty nutrition bars.” 

With a groan, Catra drops her head against the tablet. It lights her miserable face up in a glow of blues and greens and yellows that remind Adora of her eyes. A sad lock of hair flops down over her forehead, and Adora laughs. Unthinking, she leans forward to tuck the tendril behind Catra’s ear, and Catra stills. Her ears and tail go rigid with anxiety. 

Adora yanks her hand back, tamping down the urge to continue running her fingers through the short length of Catra’s dark hair. Her hand drops guiltily, and she watches as Catra unconsciously touches the same point behind her ear that Adora had just brushed her fingers against, taming the errant lock. 

It’s only then that Adora realizes how much Catra’s hair has grown in the last few months. It falls into her eyes when she’s not paying attention, the length of it nearly grazing her chin at its longest points. Like this, pushed back behind her ears, it reminds Adora of… 

She remembers the shock of seeing Catra’s hair, shorn and slicked back, on Horde Prime’s ship. She had never seen Catra’s hair that short in her _life —_ and if she had, it would have been when they were too young for her to remember. Her long hair had always been as wild and untamed as she was, a messy mass of brown waves Catra had long since given up on domesticating. None of the other cadets had been so brazen. Lonnie had worn her hair in braids, and Adora sometimes wonders if she was _born_ with a ponytail in place, but Catra had just laughed in the face of anyone who suggested she cut it or pull it back. 

Without it, she had seemed so small. 

Adora had been the one to help her cut it again on their own ship. Catra had washed as much of the gel down the drain as she could, but couldn’t wash away the memories that came with it. Despite her sulking and posturing, she had sat still while Adora clumsily trimmed the hair that had been too mottled with hair gel and debris to do anything else with. The end result was a bit rough, framing Catra’s face in short, messy layers — but it suited her far more than the sleek cut that one of Horde Prime’s clones had given her. 

As she had run her hands through Catra’s short hair, part of Adora had mourned. _Years_ of Catra’s life had been severed from her, for the sole purpose of clearing a path for the blinking chip the Horde had embedded in the back of her neck. 

“I’m sorry,” says Adora quickly, hands raised in defense. “I didn’t mean to, I—”

“It’s fine,” says Catra. She runs a hand through her hair, effectively dislodging the piece that Adora has just brushed down. It sticks out at an angle. The result should look sloppy, but instead it looks _cute._ “It’s fine,” Catra repeats. She catches Adora’s hand in hers and says, “If it’s you, it’s fine.” 

Adora squeezes Catra’s hand with a smile. 

* * *

“It’s so _annoying._ ” 

Adora looks up from her perch on the bed, surrounded by a mess of loose papers and detailed plans. She is pouring over a notebook and nibbling on the end of a pen. It’s the only thing she can do that keeps her from vibrating with excitement. After months spent helping to rebuild Etheria, months spent familiarizing King Micah with a kingdom and a people he hadn’t seen in years, months spent establishing a plan, it’s time. _Finally._ In a few days, she and her friends will board a ship and leave the protective bubble of Etheria. They’ll meet the Star Siblings and all of their allies. They’ll jet off across the vast expanse of space to bring magic back to the universe, further than any Etherians have gone before. 

Catra clearly has more important problems to deal with. Namely her hair. 

“It’s the _worst,_ ” she says, staring at her cloud of dark hair in the mirror. She runs a hand through it one more time, then gives up. She doubles back to the bed and flops onto it with a sigh. 

Adora lunges forward, trying to save as many of the papers as she can from Catra’s fall. She manages to grab a good chunk of them, but a rain of papers still float to the floor. She would dart after them, but Catra’s dramatics have landed her rather close to Adora’s crossed legs and she finds herself… distracted. 

Catra’s hair fans out around her face. It’s just past her chin now, a jagged bob that has all of the wild volume that her previous mane had. The length is awkward — too short to pull back, too long for it to stay out of her face. Catra had begrudgingly allowed bangs to be cut into it, and they fall just above her heterochromatic eyes. _Cute._

“I thought you wanted to grow it out?”

“I _do,_ ” says Catra. She pulls at a lock of hair, glaring at it, and then lets it fall onto the middle of her face. Adora gently sweeps it back to the side, her fingers lingering against Catra’s cheek. “It’s just so _annoying._ ” Unthinking, she raises a hand to cover Adora’s, anchoring it against her skin. 

“I think it’s cute,” says Adora honestly, and she _feels_ the flush of warmth to Catra’s face under the pads of her fingers. And that’s even cuter. 

She presses her other hand to the side of Catra’s face and leans forward, her own loose hair creating a curtain of spun gold hemming Catra in. It pools against Catra’s collar bone, brushes at the side of her face. Still blushing, Catra lifts a tentative hand and coils a lock of it around her finger, and gently pulls. 

Adora follows, allowing herself to be pulled in for a kiss — a sweet, clumsy kiss done at an awkward angle, but _worth_ it. She runs her fingers through the wisps of hair at Catra’s temples. Her hair isn’t smooth, but it’s soft. It’s almost long enough now to hide the remains of the chip still embedded in the nape of her neck, its entrails otherwise bare to the rest of the world. 

When Adora finally pulls away, both of their faces are flushed. Adora blames the angle. She pulls back, and for a fraction of a second Catra follows, and it’s almost enough to have Adora pushing her back down for another kiss. Instead, she laughs and drops her fingers down to Catra’s shoulders. She gives them a brief squeeze and then says, “Come on, I have an idea.” 

Grumbling about it the entire time, Catra allows herself to be guided into a sitting position with her back facing Adora. Adora jumps up from the bed, goes to rifle through a vanity of gold and bubblegum pink that is replete with cosmetics and accessories she hasn’t touched once. She returns to the bed with a brush and a few ties. 

The line of Catra’s shoulders has gone tense. She holds the brush up, hovering it hesitantly just above the wavy mass of Catra’s bob. “Is this okay?” 

Catra exhales. Her shoulders slump. She leans back on her haunches and says in a voice filled with affected nonchalance, “Uh, yeah?” A moment passes. The brush still hangs awkwardly a few inches from her head. The remains of the chip stare up at Adora. Entrapata had taken a second look at it and taken out as much of the wiring as possible, but not even she could remove the smooth plate that had held the chip in place without damaging Catra’s nervous system. It’s a part of her now, a scar. 

Adora lowers the brush and shifts away. Catra’s shoulders sag “I already told you. If it’s you, it’s… fine.” She huffs, blowing at a piece of hair that has fallen against her cheek, and says, “Besides, I’m sick of having this in my face.”

Gently, Adora works the brush through Catra’s hair. She starts at the bottom and works her way up, brushing it back from Catra’s face with soft strokes. She is careful to avoid bumping the brush against the base of Catra’s ears or her neck as she parts it into two sections. Even with Adora’s efforts, Catra’s hair remains bushy — if anything, it’s even bushier!— and part of Adora wants to lean forward and press her face into it, the way she would when they lay in bed together as children. 

Instead, she neatly sections half of it into a small, stubby ponytail at the base of Catra’s neck, and then another. She moves to sit across from Catra, to survey her work. Her shaggy bangs still frame her face, but the rest of her hair has been pulled back into twin puffs of hair at the base of her head. The result is so cute that Adora thinks she might die. 

With a flourish, she presents an ostentatiously ornate handheld mirror to Catra and says, “Ta-da! Is that better?”

Catra’s eyebrows disappear beneath her bangs, eyes gone wide. 

“What? I think it’s cute.” Adora gives a light bop to one of the little ponytails. 

Catra, predictably, goes red as a cherry. She drops the mirror onto their shared bed and buries her face in her hands. “It’s _worse_!” 

It sets Adora into a fit of giggles, and Catra tackles her for her crimes — but she doesn’t take the ponytails out. 

* * *

The instruments are different on each planet, but the sound of music is unmistakable. 

They are gathered around a bonfire that crescendos up into a dark sky cut with a thousand stars. They never get old, stars — even after all of the time they have spent journeying between them, there is still something unnatural about looking up and seeing stars winking overhead. Adora throws her head back as she dances, and tries to pick out the light of the stars beyond the pink haze of the fire. All those years, stranded in Despondos, and all of _this_ had been waiting for them. 

Bow laughs and releases her hand, and she spins to the next partner. This one is a local habitant, one of the pink-skinned, blue haired peoples of Luminia. She laughs at Adora and her clumsy feet, and twirls her a few times before handing her off to another partner, who handles her lack of grace with practiced ease. 

She still isn’t much of a dancer — her two left feet are better suited for battle, but she and the rest of her friends have been jostled back and forth all evening. This party is in their honor, after all. It’s the fifth planet they have brought magic back to, and the third one in which dancing was required. If this keeps up, her feet are going to fall off by the time they get back to Etheria. 

She is whirled to another dancer and considers bowing her head in apology and collapsing somewhere with a bench and _food_ , but she finds a familiar face before her. 

“Hey, Adora,” says Catra, one hand extended.. The wood on this planet causes the bonfire to burn pink, and it casts her mischievous smirk in soft light. “I don’t know about you, but I’m having a blast.” 

Adora takes her hand. The music shifts, and they follow the form of the rest of the dancers. Catra makes it look easy. “Of course you are,” Adora mutters. She allows Catra to guide her through the steps. It’s a relief — to dance like this, hand in hand with Catra, and just _let go._ “You can dance.” 

Catra chuckles at that, and says, “Well…” 

Adora finds herself dropped into a deep dip, Catra’s steadying thigh warm against Adora’s side and hands gentle at her waist. Her face is so close to Adora’s, and the move still makes her heart beat as fast as it had the first time Carta had pulled that move on her. She doesn’t feel any of the frustration or anger of the first time, though, just a surge of affection for her girlfriend. 

Catra ducks her head closer. Their mouths are almost touching when she murmurs, “I could teach you.” 

Before Adora can tilt her head to close the difference between the two of them, she’s pulled upright again, extended out from Catra in a smooth twirl. In another smooth movement, she’s back in Catra’s arms. Catra smirks, looking immensely pleased with herself. 

“Nice foliage,” Catra says conversationally, her gaze darting down to the wreath of alien flowers draped around Adora’s neck as if she _hadn’t_ just expertly played at Adora’s heart strings. Adora follows her gaze, eyeing the glowing petals of the bioluminescent flora. When the locals had dropped it over She-Ra’s neck, it had been almost perfect. Now, it almost overwhelms Adora’s smaller frame. 

A flush creeps up Adora’s neck. Catra had laughed with Bow and Glimmer as the locals had dragged her off, plying her with flowers and proffering babies for her to kiss, but she still feels a certain unease. These kinds of things always make her nervous, especially when she remembers their past. She had never wanted Catra to feel lost in her shadow, she had always wanted them to stand as equals. Maybe She-Ra _had_ brought magic back to this planet — but she hadn’t done it alone. Her grip tightens on Catra’s waist. She hopes she never has to do it alone. 

“It’s — you know, for She-Ra—” starts Adora, as if _that’s_ any better. Catra cuts her off with a short burst of laughter, one full of humor rather than hurt. 

“I know, you should have seen your face when they put that thing on you.” She gives Adora another twirl. This time, Adora is expecting it. She lifts her eyes to the sky again, drinking in the moment. The warmth of the fire, the weight of Catra’s hand in hers, the stars overhead. 

The music veers into another direction, and Adora realizes with frustration that they are going to change partners again. She smoothes her hands against Catra’s side when Catra reels her back in, and thinks about just… not letting go when the music switches. 

Then again, she thinks Bow is Catra’s next dance partner in the lineup, and seeing her sling _him_ around the dance circle like a pinball is always funny. 

When they break to switch to the next dance partner, Catra darts forward and plants the kiss that she owes Adora from her little tease earlier against her lips. It’s short and sweet, accompanied by a small smile when she pulls away that nearly melts Adora’s heart. 

Catra steps back to move to the next partner, and Adora scrambles to catch her hand. 

“Catra, wait—”

“You want to step on my feet again already?” 

Adora rolls her eyes. She fumbles with the garland around her neck, inelegantly plucking at a brilliant red bloom from the chain of flowers. She hesitates for a moment, and then looks back up at Catra to ask, “Can I…?” 

Catra’s eyes widen. She gives a slight nod and leans forward. Adora meets her half way, brushing a loose strand of hair from Catra’s face. Her hair is longer now — it dances loosely around her shoulders, still short by Catra’s standards but longer than it has been since Horde Prime’s minions sheared it off. Her bangs have grown out too. She looks more and more like her old self every day. 

She tucks the flower into Catra’s hair, settling it behind one of her ears. It will be gone before the night is done, flung off into the fire or the dark expanse outside the festival site, or broken into crimson petals strewn among Catra’s dark hair. Still, Adora wants to give it to her. When her fingers brush against the velveteen fur of her ear for a moment, Catra leans in to the touch. 

“Did you just…” Adora’s mouth curves into a mischievous smile. “Did you just nuzzle me?” 

Adora is still laughing when she’s whirled off to her next dance partner, and Bow spends the next set of dances whirling like a cyclone. 

* * *

This is _not_ how it was supposed to go. 

They scramble up the ramp to the ship. Glimmer tries to transport them the last few feet, but she’s too tired to get them more than a couple of steps. Adora clutches Catra against her chest. She feels so small, and her breathing is shallow. With Catra cradled in her arms — _She-Ra’s_ arms — the whole situation feels sickeningly familiar. 

Glimmer darts across the expanse of the starship, smacks her hand down on the modified First Ones tech and tells Darla to get them out of there. The ramp is already closing behind them by the time Adora stumbles to her knees, carefully laying Catra down against the cold metal floor. She yanks Catra’s helmet off with as much care as she can, trying to avoid pinching her ears as she does. The hair pulling and ear folding is probably the least of Catra’s worries right now, but still. 

Her face has gone pale, and her dark hair spills out of the helmet. Adora had braided it tight against her head this morning. Catra had complained the entire time, as she always did, but it was the only way to get the mass of it to fit into her helmet— and even then, only barely. It skims the space just between her shoulders blades now, that warm expanse of skin and fur that Adora likes to settle her hand against when they lay together in bed. Even shielded from the elements by her helmet, hanks of wavy hair have started to slip from the braid. Adora isn’t surprised — Catra had been knocked about pretty hard by the monster they had been fighting. Adora’s heart had nearly stopped when it folded Catra into one of its snake-like arms. It’s a miracle she survived the fall. 

“Come on, Catra,” says Adora now, gathering Catra into her arms again. She closes her eyes, and She-Ra’s aura glows golden.. She can _feel_ it— every broken bone and every bruise blighting Catra’s body. “Don’t give up on me now.” 

She pours as much of that healing light into Catra as she can, reaching out with her magic and soothing all of the broken bits. Catra will be sore, probably — but she’ll be alive. 

The glow fades, and with it comes the familiar disorientation of slipping back into her own skin. She’s done this so many times that she doesn’t even notice, so focused on the minute changes in Catra’s frozen expression. 

Finally her eyes flutter open. 

“Hey, Adora,” says Catra in a tired, choked voice. It’s the exact same thing she had said when they had rescued her from Horde Prime. Adora had never wanted to repeat that scene. She hopes she never has to do it again. 

“Catra,” Adora chokes, eyes filling with tears. She had expected to be brimming with relief, but instead a sense of rage wells up inside of her. Before she can help it she bites out, “Why did you go in there? You could have gotten yourself killed! I told you guys to stay put!”

A stunned expression crosses Catra’s face, soon replaced by a cloud of irritation. She pushes herself up so quickly that Adora has to scramble back to keep their foreheads from knocking together. “Why did _I_ go in there?” Catra repeats, eyes narrowed. “Are you kidding me?”

“It was too dangerous—”

“Yeah, too dangerous for _you_ to go in there alone!” 

From a distance, Zetera had looked harmless. One of many planets displaced under Horde Primes’ rule, waiting for the return of magic back to the universe. At a glance, it was dusty and barren, the earth scorched from its proximity to its nearest star — but a rich civilization lived in a series of crystalline tunnels just under the surface, many of them embedded with First Ones magic. They had navigated carefully, She-Ra working as both a flashlight and a walking password for the First Ones’ tech, exploring a seemingly deserted planet and freeing the magic within it. 

What they hadn’t realized was that the First Ones weren’t trying to keep intruders _out_ of the tunnels of Zetera — they were trying to keep something _in._

Adora had begged the others to turn back to the ship. The writhing monster deep within the caves had brushed off Catra and her claws with a flick of one of its tails and battered her against the wall. It was fast — almost faster than Glimmer’s transportations. Bow’s arrows had simply glanced off of it. When it had slid back down the dark abyss, nestling deeper into the crust of Zetera to choke the remains of magic within it, Adora had jumped in after. 

I couldn’t just _leave_ it there, Catra—”

“ _Yes,_ ” shouts Catra, “You could have! We are a _team,_ Adora.” She flings one arm out and motions toward Glimmer and Bow, who are standing at the helm of the ship and pretending to be _very_ interested in the navigation panel in front of them, their next path through the stars lit up in bright holographs. “Ask them. What do you think, Sparkles?” 

Fuming, Adora shifts her gaze from Catra to Glimmer. The guilty expression on Glimmer’s face is enough to obliterate the frustrated words rising in her throat. 

Glimmer shifts awkwardly on her feet. She rubs at an elbow self consciously, eyes darting back and forth between Catra and Adora, then screws up her face and heaves out an enormous sigh. “Catra is right, Adora. You can’t just run in like that by yourself!” 

“But the magic—”

“—doesn’t matter if you’re _dead._ ” Glimmer finishes. 

Adora lifts her gaze to Bow, the most earnest of them all. He and Glimmer share a glance, one of those quick glances between the two of them that can capture an entire conversation in a matter of seconds. His dark eyes shift back to Adora, and he nods. “They’re right,” he says. “If the four of us couldn’t have taken it, there’s no way you should have gone in after it alone.” 

With that final admonishment, Adora deflates. She glares down at her fist, clenched against her knee.. It’s still so overwhelming, this power she has — she wants more than anything to use it to do good, to counter the destiny she had been given to be a weapon. She wants to fill the universe with the light and the magic that has so long been denied to it, just like she and the rest of Etheria had so long been denied the universe. It’s so easy to fall into that ambition, to try and pull the pieces together all on her own. 

Catra’s hand, still enveloped in the glove of her space suit, falls into view. It covers Adora’s, slowly uncurling the tense ball of her fingers. Adora lifts her guilty gaze to meet Catra’s eyes, and is surprised at the softness she sees in them. 

“You don’t always need to be a hero,” Catra reminds her, voice gentle. Her face is no longer angry, but concerned. “What would we do without you? What would _I_ do without you?”

Her hair has worked its way comically loose from her braid at this point. A tendril falls into her eye, and Adora brushes it back with her free hand, unthinking. Catra cups her hand around Adora’s. “You’re right,” she says. She leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry.” 

Today didn’t go as planned — but tomorrow will be a new day, Adora knows. And they’ll face it together. 

* * *

Their quest to bring magic back to the universe weaves them back and forth across space. They explore shining planets made of faceted, glittering crystal, and dusty ones of ash and red rock. They are greeted with open arms and with pitchforks. They make friends — many, many friends along the way, previously unknown fighters in the great rebellion against the forces of Horde Prime. They do it all together. 

On their way back to Etheria, they catch a signal from Luminia. Bow raises his eyebrows and goes, “What? It would be rude not to.”

They descend into Luminia with the same awe as they had the first time. Adora presses the fingers of one hand to the pane of the window as they descend, watching as the brilliantly lit surface comes into view. Catra stands at her side, hands tangled together. By now they have done this many times, but the exhilaration of descending toward another planet never fades. Adora squeezes her fingers. Catra squeezes back. 

They happen, of course, into another party. Catra has made good on her promise to teach Adora, and the two of them have danced laughing circles around their little cubicle on the starship. There is another fire, and another line of dance partners, and Adora is proud of how few feet she tramples this time around. 

“Hey, Catra,” she says when Catra lands in her arms. Catra sizes her up, from the confident set to her shoulders to the crown of bioluminescent flowers ringed around her brow. She arches one eyebrow. Teasing, flirting. 

“Well, look at you—”

Adora doesn’t let her finish the sentence. Completely out of time with the rest of the dance circling around them, she drops Catra into a low dip. Her chaotic hair tumbles off of her shoulders, long enough now that it nearly brushes the light-dusted ground beneath them. Adora cups the back of Catra’s head in her hand, pooling her long tresses in her hand so that they don’t drag in the dirt below, bioluminescent or not. Catra’s eyes are wide with unguarded surprize. 

“I’m sorry,” Adora says, adopting Catra’s earlier smirk, “You were saying?”

When they board the ship that night, arms wound around one another, Adora’s ring of flowers sits atop Catra’s head. 

* * *

“Just — stay _still_ — _”_

“You’ll never catch me alive!” 

There goes the peace and quiet. 

Adora counts in her head, a fond smile on her face. _Three… two... one…_

The arched door to her and Catra’s suite flies open. A gleeful Catra bounds into the room, laughing. She’s quick — but Glimmer, aided by the powers of teleportation, is quicker. She blinks into existence at Catra’s side in a shower of sparkles, an ornate brush wielded in one hand like it’s her staff. Catra regards it with similar suspicion. 

She drops into a quick crouch, and rolls under the arc of Glimmer’s arm — a commendable feat, in her formal finery. It’s amazing she hasn’t ripped her tailored dress pants. The shirt, of course, she wears loose and open at the neck, not even a pretense of a tie hanging around her collar. 

She darts across the room to hide behind Adora, her claws extended but her hands gentle against Adora’s bare shoulders. 

“She’s trying to _torture_ me,” she wails, and the two of them chase one another around Adora for a moment or two. 

“It’s a _formal. Event._ ” Glimmer teases. She brandishes the brush like a sword. “Do you _always_ have to be so dramatic?”

It’s been a few days since their return to Etheria. The universe is vast — but not vast enough to keep any of them from Scorpia’s first Princess Prom. Adora has seen many worlds, some similar to her own and some indescribably different — but none of them could compete in beauty with her home. Her eyes had welled with unbidden tears when they had landed back in Bright Moon, with its grassy green mountains and singing pools, the Runestone of the kingdom casting a glow about the castle and village below. Even more beautiful had been her friends, the ones who had piled into the castle to come see them, to hear their tales of far away worlds. 

She imagines the Princess Prom will be even more of that. Chatting with friends, recounting their exploits, and dancing. _Lots_ of dancing. 

Bow veers into the room after the two of them, shaking his head. His hair, too, has grown since they left Etheria, and he wears a curly crowd of it piled up on his head. His suit matches Glimmer’s, creamy whites and pale pinks detailed in shining gold. An earring drips from one ear — Queen Angella’s earring, the mate to the one Glimmer wears. 

“You guys,” Bow says, with an affectionate roll of his eyes. He comes up behind Glimmer, and places a warm hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to be late. Scorpia is going to kill us.” 

“I’m _trying_ to get Catra to brush her hair,” insists Glimmer. Her mouth creases into a sly smile, and her eyes dart between Catra and Adora, who Catra is currently using as a human shield. “Then again,” Glimmer says, carelessly tossing the brush toward Adora’s vanity, “That’s _Adora’s_ job isn’t it?” 

Adora doesn’t have to look at her to know that Catra, with all the grace and maturity that growing up has bestowed upon her, is sticking her tongue out at Glimmer. Adora shakes her head at the two of them. “Hey, _some_ of us are still getting ready.” 

“Then you better hurry,” says Glimmer. “The Glimmer Express is leaving in ten minutes. _With or without_ you on it.” 

Catra fixes Glimmer with a triumphant smirk until she and Bow leave the room in a cloud of sparkles. Adora shakes her head fondly, loose blonde hair scattering across her shoulders and down her back. “You two.” 

With a sigh, Catra collapses down onto the bed. It’s bigger than the first one the two of them had shared the first time Catra came to Bright Moon, when she would slip out of her chambers and into Adora’s every night until Glimmer had eventually just repurposed the room for something else. She runs a hand through her messy hair. It brushes the middle of her back now. Not as long as it had been when they were younger, but still growing. She scrutinizes the ends for a moment, and then looks up at Adora, who is currently plucking at her white and gold dress in the mirror. 

“Hey, can you help me put this up?” 

Adora catches Catra’s eyes in the mirror. “I thought you didn’t want to brush it?”

Catra crosses one leg over the other on the bed, leans back on her hands and shrugs. “Not if it’s Glimmer,” Catra says. She presses a self conscious hand to the side of her neck and says, “But it’s okay if it’s you.” 

Adora smiles to the mirror. She collects the brush and tie, and comes to stand behind Adora on the bed. She works the brush through Catra’s hair in gentle strokes, just like she always has, from the bottom up. The ponytail she pulls it up into isn’t tight — it’s loose and full, enough to keep the hair off of the back Catra’s neck without feeling like she is being stifled. By the time she is done, Adora is pleased to hear the familiar rumble of a purr. 

Once her work is complete, Adora drops a kiss to the top of Catra’s head, in the space just between her ears. 

“All done,” she says softly. When she crosses back to the vanity and drops herself into the chair, she brings the brush with her. 

Catra wanders after her, tugging at the end of her voluminous ponytail. She studies Adora’s handiwork in the mirror over her head. Once she deems it appropriate, her gaze drifts down to Adora’s reflection, watching the way that she works the hairbrush through her own hair. 

Placing her hands onto armrests of the chair, Catra leans forward. She frames Adora in, gently setting the point of her chin to rest on the crown of Adora’s head and says, “You look great. What else do you need to do?” 

“Not much,” Adora says, trying to brush through her hair without dislodging Catra.“Have you seen my jacket?” 

She misses Catra’s warmth as soon as she backs away, stepping aside to pull the pale capelet from its hook. With a flourish, she drapes the jacket over one shoulder like a cape. The effect is striking against the dark lines of her black pants and crimson shirt, one shoulder dripping in the gold of the epaulettes. “My jacket now,” Catra says mischievously, and it looks too good on her for Adora to take it back. 

She shakes her head with a smile, and uses the brush to smooth back her own hair, eyes angled downward as she does so. She’s pulling it up into a simple ponytail when a hand settles against her own. When she glances up, her blue eyes catch Catra’s lovely mismatched ones in the mirror. 

“You should leave it,” Catra says quietly. She threads a hand through the spun gold of Adora’s hair. She folds Adora’s hands in hers and gently lowers them down, and Adora’s hair spills down onto her shoulders like a flaxen river. One of Catra’s hand curls around the brush in Adora’s, gently easing it out of her grip. “Let your hair down for once.” 

“It will be in my face all night,” protests Adora, even as she lets Catra smooth the hair back from her face. The bristles are soft against her head, Catra’s fingers gentle as she works through the tangles. Adora closes her eyes and basks in the sensation, lets her head fall back against Catra’s chest. She understands why Catra purrs when she does this. 

“Just sit still for a moment,” Catra instructs, as if anything could pull Adora from this moment. She smoothes Adora’s hair back, uses a small handful of pins to pull the front of her hair back from her face. She dips her hand into a pot of previously unused gel to smooth down the flyaways, leaving just a few wisps to frame Adora’s face. 

When Adora opens her eyes, the face staring at her is open and relaxed. Her hair is pulled back from her face — not in the tight ponytail she usually wears, but the top layer is pulled into a small pompadour atop her head. Looking at her hair like this, she realizes how long it has grown — longer than it has ever been in her life. So much has changed. She looks older. 

Catra flicks her on the back of the head. “You’re peeking,” she says. “I’m not done yet.” She squeezes Adora’s shoulder and moves to rummage around in the vanity, casually tossing the accessories she doesn’t want over her shoulder.”No, no, maybe…. No…” It will be a real nightmare in the morning, which Catra will realize when she embeds a pin in her foot tomorrow, but for now she roots around in the drawers with a single minded intensity. 

“A-ha.”

Catra inserts herself between Adora and the mirror, crowding into the meagre space of the vanity. She loops one leg over Adora’s lap and sinks down to sit in it. It’s not _entirely_ necessary, but Adora doesn’t object, just brings her hands fit at the small of Catra’s back, steadying her. 

With gentle, precise hands, Catra smoothes a diadem onto Adora’s forehead, careful not to let the tines jab into her skull. She takes Adora’s face in her hands, tilts it one way and the other to make sure the golden crown is even. She makes a minor adjustment to one side, and then the other. 

“Happy with yourself?” Asks Adora, one eyebrow raised. 

“Sit _still_ ,” Catra says, even as she tilts Adora’s head this way and that by the point of her chin. When she’s satisfied, she pulls back to look at Adora with a smug little grin. Her gaze lifts to the center of Adora’s forehead, and her mischievous smile softens. She leans down and presses her mouth to Adora’s. 

Adora tightens her hold on Catra’s waist, pulling her deeper into the kiss. She runs her fingers in slow circles over Catra’s side, unintentionally creasing the shirt with the movement. Catra’s warm hands cup her face, the tips of her fingers brushing up into the fine hairs still peaking out from above Adora’s hair. 

“You’re going to ruin your handiwork,” murmurs Adora in the space between kisses.

Catra makes a noncommittal noise and goes in for another kiss, laughing against Adora’s mouth. Adora’s hands slide up her back, one of them pushing into the soft cushion of hair at the base of her neck. Her hand skims over the remains of the chip, but she doesn’t think about that. She’s so caught up in the moment that she doesn’t even think about Glimmer’s voice in the back of her head, telling her it’s been well past ten minutes. 

“ _Ten minutes! I said ten minutes!”_

But Glimmer on the other side of the door is pretty hard to ignore, what with the banging and all. 

With an inelegant groan, Catra slumps back against the vanity. Still straddling Adora’s lap, she fixes her with eyes that say _Do we have to go?_ And Adora laughs. 

“Stop laughing!” Glimmer punctuates it with another bang against the door. “We are going to be _late!_ ” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming,” says Catra. She reluctantly clambers off of Adora’s lap, not even bothering to straighten her clothes before she crosses the room and throws the door open. “Haven’t you heard of privacy, Sparkles?” 

“What part of _late_ don’t you understand,” says Glimmer in the background, which soon gives way to teasing Catra about her disarrayed state. 

The two of them bicker in the background, but the details fall away as Adora studies her face in the mirror. The diadem Catra has chosen is an arched sliver of gold resting above her brow. At its center sits a crimson stone, a smooth oval splashed the same shade of red as Catra’s shirt. 

Adora brushes her fingers over it, and smiles. 

By the time she rises, Catra has already shooed Glimmer and Bow from their room. She stands with her hands on her hips and shakes her head, ponytail bobbing as she does so. “I swear,” she mutters to herself, eyes narrowed at the open door. 

When she turns and sees Adora approaching, she smiles. She reaches out a hand and the jacket on her shoulder rustles, the gold and white slip of fabric against her shoulder a perfect match for Adora’s dress. “You coming?” She asks. 

Adora smiles and takes her hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! Sorry about all the hair. There are really only a few ways to describe hair. 
> 
> I have posted two fics totaling almost 10k two days in a row, which will probably never happen again. 
> 
> Kudos and comments mean the world! Especially comments, I love hearing what you liked in the fic and what you’d like to see more of in the future! 
> 
> My condolences to the Gideon the Ninth server. You asked for like three hairstyles and I don’t think I used one of them. I am particularly sorry for not giving her the undercut. Use your imaginations.
> 
> As always, I’m on tumblr as [strangehunger](https://strangehunger.tumblr.com) and Twitter as [magpiebrain](https://twitter.com/magpiebrain) if you want to scream with me. EDIT: Because I am being sucked in, you can now find me at an almost exclusively SPOP twitter, [tsunderecatra](https://twitter.com/tsunderecatra).


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